Should
by DaughteroftheKing97
Summary: He tried to tell himself that he should be happy. Tried to tell himself that all the money, and the feeble attention from Bruce could make up for the grief...but it was too hard. WARNINGS: Cutting and mentions of suicide. Strong T.


**Um, hi. This is a lot darker than I normally write, and I KNOW I should be working on Despite It All, but I just don't have the inspiration right now. I'll have it up in two weeks, probably…maybe…=P**

**Warnings: Involves cutting yourself and suicide. Read at your own risk…!**

**Disclaimer: I shop at Goodwill. Do you really think I own Young Justice?**

"_You don't belong here, circus freak." _

"_Look, it's Wayne's little charity case." _

"_Go away, freak. You don't belong here…" _

Dick sits against his bed in Wayne manor, eyes squeezed shut so he doesn't have to look at the cuts on his arm. He knows old white scars are next to them.

He can feel the blood racing down his arm, onto the white carpet, but for once he just doesn't care. He has to hold back a sob, knowing Bruce or Alfred could enter at any moment.

He doesn't know when he started, exactly. At first it'd been on impulse, sitting listlessly in his bathroom when he noticed the razor on the bathtub's edge. He'd grabbed it, hesitating a fraction of a second before sliding it across his arm. Afterwards he stared at the blood trickling from the cut, and was slightly surprised to think that it felt _good. _If he was focused on physical pain…the emotional wasn't so strong.

Everyone at school hated him. Everyone knew that he wasn't actually a Wayne, just some "lucky" gypsy that the stereotypical 'rich kids' decided was a freak. Everyone except Barbara either bullied him or ignored him, and even she seemed slightly nervous about hanging out with him during school.

He can't hold back the next sob. Everyone - the media, Bruce's friends - told him how happy he must be, to go from living in a cramped, dirty trailer, sometimes going days without eating hardly anything, to living in a mansion with a fully stocked pantry.

He didn't feel happy.

He tried to make himself believe that he _should be. _That all the money, the feeble amount of attention from Bruce, could compensate for the school bullies. He knew that those kids shouldn't matter, that he should ignore them.

But it was too hard.

He'd graduated from razor blades, when he no longer felt their pain, to knives. He made another cut, and then pulled a small bottle of pills from under his pillow, hands shaking violently.

He popped open the cap, knowing that swallowing these would mean the end of Young Justice, the end of Robin, the end of knowing Bruce.

But it would also mean the end of pain.

He swallowed one dry.

He knew from extensive research that one or two wouldn't hurt him, but any more and he'd either end up violently ill, or if he had all of them, dead.

He planned on all of them. He swallowed a second.

He was almost to his third when a voice drifted through his door. He didn't even had the mind to think to hide the pills. "Dick, your school banquet is-"

Bruce paused in the doorway, looking thoroughly horrified. "Dick…"

The boy broke down in tears, pills slipping from his shaking fingers alongside his blood-streaked knife. Bruce slowly stepped forward, carefully taking the pills and knife, reading the label. He closed his eyes, then carefully gathered Dick into his arms as if he were porcelain.

"How did I not…I'm so sorry," he murmured, not caring as blood soaked into his suit. Dick sobbed into his chest, muttering in a mix of languages.

He was still broken. But now that someone knew…someone that would help him…he could start healing.

As he clung to Bruce's arm, he knew everything would be alright.

**Um…the end…? **

**I know what this is like. I never used knives, just a razor, and never deep enough to leave serious scars. But I know what it's like to have depression, and I know what's like to be very suicidal. I know what it's like to sit on your bed, sobbing, holding a bottle of pills. Thankfully, I didn't do it, obviously. But it wasn't my earthly daddy that saved me, it was my Lord. Sorry for getting "religious", but…A song came on the radio that made me realize I was more than what was happening, that God loved me no matter what.**

**I know it takes a long time to heal. I wasn't implying that Dick was just instantly alright. I started healing nearly a year ago, and I'm still working on it. **

**If you're a cutter…or have depression, or whatever, and want to chat anonymously, you can message me if you'd like, since I know what it's like…**

**Sorry Dick is so OOC, he just seemed like the most likely character to have depression, despite his smiles. I know how to fake smiles well…**

**Sorry, sorry. No more depressing stuff, promise. Leave a review? **


End file.
